The character, Jasper, finds himself in a very real-feeling vision, where he’s in a desert having to face the accusation and pain of all the people who have hurt him or whom he believes he has hurt in his life. It’s a desert of self-condemnation and loneliness; essentially, this world of lies that he’s created around himself, that he feels he deserves. But the desert then turns into the place of identity, freedom, and companionship when the truth is revealed.

Likewise, in his time in the desert, Jesus was faced with accusations from the enemy. These accusations questioned Jesus’ identity as a beloved son and cast doubt on the goodness of his Father. But, having received his Father’s approval already, he answered the accusations with his identity, from knowing his belovedness as the son of God. He comes to reveal this same belovedness to us all, regardless of what we’ve done or haven’t done, experienced or haven’t experienced.

Second half of Chapter 35

The layout had changed. Or perhaps he hadn’t yet looked in this direction? He honestly wasn’t sure. A large rock, much taller and wider than a man, sat a few yards distant. And behind that, an even larger cliff. Jasper had to crane his neck to see the top of it. The dark rock stood in stark contrast to the light sand. He looked back again, and River was gone. But the others were still there. He wondered why they didn’t come after him. When Jasper turned back toward the rocks, he was surprised to find a man leaning against the smaller boulder.

Looking at this man’s face, Jasper felt a distinct sense of companionship. A warmth grew in his chest, relaxing his muscles and taking some of the edge off. The man smiled at him. His smile was genuine and trustworthy—he couldn’t explain it any other way.

By every appearance, this man was no more than a vagabond. His clothes were nothing but torn rags hanging from his body, his face was badly sunburned, his lips dry and cracked. His long dark hair was pulled back loosely from his face. He wore leather flip flops on red and swollen feet. How long had he been in the desert? His thin body implied malnourishment. And yet he smiled, seemingly completely at peace. Jasper had no words to offer the man—somehow they didn’t seem necessary. There was a reason he was here, and he clearly knew more about this place than Jasper did.

“Why are you afraid of them?” The man spoke. Jasper was caught off guard by the question, though he knew exactly whom he referred to. He also knew now that this was the voice he had heard earlier, twice.

“Why have I not seen you until now?” Jasper’s voice came out thin and raspy. “Am I dead?” he added, thinking this man might know.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to give you the answer you’re looking for. But think about it, Jase. What is real, and what is merely a figment of your imagination that you must obliterate?”

“These people are real, and they’re here because I’ve hurt them.”

“Really?” He heard the man ask softly behind him. Then he was standing right beside him. Jasper turned. He wanted to weep when he looked at the man’s face, but he didn’t understand why.

“There are a lot of things you haven’t understood, Jasper. But today, I want to bring some light to your darkened senses.”

Jasper couldn’t respond. His throat had closed. He looked at the people again, accusing him, hurt and bleeding.

“You need to ask yourself what is real, Jasper. Because sometimes the things you see are merely projections of what you believe. You have the power; they are no threat to you unless you allow them to be. Is their anger real? Is their pain real?” Jasper flinched when he felt dry yet comforting fingers on his burned cheek. “Is this burn what’s real?”

Jasper turned to him again. “I don’t know. Yes. No.” He closed his eyes and opened them, holding back a curse. “Of course they’re angry and hurting, and of course my face got burned. I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“You’re right, in some measure.” He removed his hand from Jasper’s face. The spot he touched felt refreshingly cool. Then soothing warmth replaced the fading coolness. He lifted a tentative hand to his cheek and swallowed. The uneven skin caused by the burn was now smooth. He lifted his eyes to the man.

“You’re right in your assessment,” the stranger continued, “and yet you fail to recognize that there is a much greater reality, and this reality has the power to alter what you believe to be set in stone. It has the power—”

“To heal,” Jasper finished for him, fingers still groping at his restored skin.

“You’re already beginning to see.” The man smiled again.

Jasper looked at the people: Adrian, Joel, Brody, the phantom that was his bleeding son, his mom and dad, Penny, Renata. His eyes locked on Renata’s. Her mouth curved into a mocking smirk and her dark eyes bore into him. The familiar guilt gripped his heart and stuck like a knife. She had every right—

Her image began to shift, different parts of her spastically moving to the left and to the right, reminding him of bad television reception. At one point he could see right through her. He furrowed his brow and looked at the man beside him, who only smiled as if all of this was perfectly normal. He faced Renata. Her image continued to shift, but her expression remained, still cutting him deep. He had an urge to weep and beg her for forgiveness.

“There is a lot you don’t know, and what you think you know clouds your judgment.”

“I don’t judge her,” Jasper replied to the stranger’s voice.

“But don’t you? You have told yourself stories about what she has done, about what she thinks. But do you know the truth?”

Jasper had never thought of it that way before. He was trapped in guilt, and it altered the way he saw everything. Did guilt speak the truth? It was the first time he questioned it.

“Renata craves freedom, Jasper. Won’t you release her?”

Jasper let out a quick breath, overcome by astonishing new possibilities. It felt like his present world was gradually peeling away, revealing glimpses of radiant light he never knew hid behind it all. He let this new light into his body, his soul, willing to be swallowed whole by it. As he pushed a trembling hand through his hair, he watched Renata’s image continue in spastic movements. Her form began to blink out and back again, then faster. Finally, her whole body flickered like florescent lights in a windstorm before vanishing completely. Jasper let out another breath and staggered back, feeling both lighter and weaker at the same time. A strong hand was pressed against his back, steadying him.

“Welcome to a whole new world,” the man said as Jasper’s eyes shifted to the other people still standing before them.

Chapter 36

Jasper set his gaze on Adrian and Joel. Joel’s face twisted in grief, and Adrian’s in anger.

“You have the power, Jasper,” the stranger who was not so much like a stranger said. “Are you going to hold yourself responsible for their well being, knowing you are incapable of saving them? Or are you going to trust someone who knows what they need and cares even more than you do?” The man’s voice held a twinge of sorrow. It rose in pitch as if he was about to cry. Jasper looked at him, swallowing. A question formed in his brain and he didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him earlier.

“Who are you?” he breathed.

The man waited a second before responding, studying Jasper’s eyes. “I am the one who knows you better than even your enemies.”

Jasper’s lungs felt bereft of breath at the words. How could someone he had never seen or met before know him so well? He realized he wanted it to be true. He wanted this man to be his friend, because he understood him better than anyone ever had. He couldn’t breathe because his longing was so great, and yet his desire to be known fought against his fear of being discovered for who he really was.

“Jasper, you can’t save them—Penny, your brother and nephew and mom, your son and Brody. You think you have let them down, and as a result you are a despicable person.” Jasper let out a moan, overcome.

“Let go,” the man said, placing his hand over Jasper’s heart. “Let go of your expectations for yourself and your false perceptions…” The man moved closer and pressed his hand more firmly against his chest, making him want to weep. For gratitude or sorrow, he didn’t quite know. “…Be free,” the man whispered, his face so close to his that his breath spread over Jasper’s face. He was surprised at how sweet and refreshing that breath was, coming from a man who had spent who knew how long in this forsaken place.

“Look at them,” the man said after a moment, gently removing his hand. His warm touch lingered on his chest as he turned again to face his loved ones. “Do they condemn you?”

As he looked from one to another, each of the images, excluding his father, began to shift just like the image of Renata had. They were quickly fading. Jasper let out a breathy laugh. “No,” he said. The images blinked out so that only his father remained standing on the sand, arms crossed and scowling.

“Then neither do I,” Jasper’s companion said. Unbidden tears poured down Jasper’s face as he stared at his father.

“What about my father? I can’t change the past. He’s already gone.”

“Does he possess the power to alter the direction of your life?”

Jasper swallowed, not knowing how to answer. It sure felt like he did. He was never able to please him or live up to his requirements. He was never good enough for him.

“You will always wander if you aim to please man.”

Just like that, huh?

“I failed him,” Jasper said. He felt his jaw flex.

“Just like you failed Renata?” He felt a strong hand around his arm. “Just like her, Jasper, you have projected a false reality onto your view of your father. There is much you didn’t know about his inner thoughts. He expressed his own pain and regret by pointing the finger at you. But you didn’t fail him. He loved you more than he was ever able to communicate.”

Jasper’s whole body started to tremble. Could it be true? He stared at his father, whose expression didn’t change. Had his father been in as much or even more pain than himself? Had he really loved him?

“All you have to do is forgive. Release him…” The man squeezed his arm and breathed, “…for the sake of your own destiny.”

Jasper’s body shook and his fists closed in protest. A war raged inside him. Yet he had already encountered an astounding new reality. Could he let this one offense hold all of this reality’s fullness back from him? Jasper screamed to the sky, tears dripping off his chin, and released his fingers so that they tensed and spread at his sides. He dropped to his knees, looked again at the image of his father. He sucked in the dry desert air through his nose as deeply as he could and let it out via his mouth in one long, slow stream. After blinking once, his father simply vanished. A glinting object sat in the sand where his father’s feet had been planted.

Everything around Jasper grew still. The desert winds quieted yet still tickled his scalp; the sound of sand shifting under their feet ceased. Strength returned to him. And peace. Jasper stood and watched in silence as his new companion walked forward. It was like a dream—but how could one feel such peace in a dream? Maybe he was waking up from a dream. His eyes were glued to the man who knew him like a close friend. The breeze danced with the torn rags covering the man’s body, whipped strands of his long hair every which way. Somehow, despite all the dirt and grime and the flaking, sun-baked skin, this man possessed a kind of beauty he couldn’t explain.

Jasper continued to watch as the man knelt with his back to him and gently picked up the shiny object. He stood again and simply turned and walked back at the same steady pace, a small bronze chain dangling from his fist. Once he stood before Jasper again, he lifted his occupied fist, opened his fingers and looked down at the object. Jasper could already see what it was. His stomach leapt. The man handed him the compass. Jasper turned it over to reveal an engraved city on its back with silky white pearl embedded into the hill it sat upon. He met the man’s eyes. The smile in his eyes was accentuated by his slightly upturned lips and a reassuring nod. Jasper’s fingers enveloped the gift as he wiped tears off his face with his other hand. The man turned and headed the other direction.

“Come,” he said. “I have something to show you.” He walked toward the rock Jasper originally saw him leaning on.

Jasper’s heart still beat like the wings of a bird released from a cage. He followed, having no reason not to, curiosity tugging at the crossroads of his mind. He wanted to know more about this man and his purpose. The man stopped at the large boulder and looked down at its base. Then he lifted his eyes to Jasper, who had stopped two feet away.

“Our enemy once told me this was a hunk of bread. Or could be.” He shook his head. “He sure likes to play on our weaknesses. I was nearly starved—forty days without physical sustenance. But what he was really after was convincing me to believe that I had to prove my identity before claiming it as my own.” He paused and looked at the rock. “Temptation at its best,” he said, looking up again.

Jasper wasn’t sure he understood, but it didn’t feel right to ask for an explanation. Who was “our enemy?” And what did identity have to do with a rock becoming food? The man looked at him as if reading his mind, then turned around and continued walking toward the larger cliff. Jasper followed, thinking that’s what the man expected. While the man’s back was turned, Jasper rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. His companion possessed an uncanny sense of knowledge. The man stopped before the cliff, stretched his neck back to look up, then turned to him. Jasper stepped up beside him, close enough to reach out and touch the rock face.

“He took me to the top of this cliff. And when he did, I could look out and see the world. Every kingdom in one panoramic shot—people moving about, governors and rulers in their seats of power.” He chuckled. “Even different weather patterns displayed over each geographical area. It was overwhelming. Breathtaking.” He stopped, looking up again and closing his eyes. “And it was mine to claim. But, considering it was currently under the domain of our enemy, I couldn’t claim it unless I bowed down to worship him. He knew what he was doing, see; but he didn’t really.” The man looked at Jasper again, his face growing serious and his eyes becoming even deeper wells. “He didn’t understand where the real power rested. On one hand, I had all power to claim my divinity and take what was mine—and this he played off of. And yet the real power was found in trusting what I could not yet see—in resisting what was right in front of my face, what I could reach out and touch, and putting my faith in a greater reality and a greater purpose. See, my journey was not over.” He smiled. “It was only just beginning. It wasn’t my time to claim what I deserved. It was my time to surrender, for the sake of the freedom of all generations.”

Before Jasper could even process the ramifications of what he was revealing, he was pulled up by a sudden gust of wind. He tripped over his feet after being set down on solid ground and nearly fell. The man caught him. Jasper struggled to regain his breath. When he finally did, he looked out and then down. He swallowed his rising panic and took a step back. They were standing atop a high building. The wind blew stronger up here.

“Live on the edge but don’t throw yourself down,” his companion said, steadying him again with a hand on his back. Jasper looked at him, incredulous, taking in huge gulps of air. Was he crazy?

“Our enemy took me up here next. The top of the Temple of my people. That’s when he rained the “ifs” on me in a torrential downpour. If you really are who you say you are, throw yourself down. The angels will come and save you, and don’t you know it.” Jasper’s eyes widened. Who was he really standing in the presence of? Because surely, those rags must be lying.

“And I did know it,” the man continued. “The impossible was my domain. But put my father to the test by deliberately provoking his power?” He looked out at the vast desert below. “Madness.” He turned to face Jasper, stepping closer. Their breath mingled. Jasper’s heart ran hard, as if trying to escape this inferno of a man. “If,” he said. “If,” he repeated. “If,” he whispered, stepping yet closer so that their foreheads would touch if either bowed his head. Jasper’s insides quivered and then collapsed, or so it felt. The undoing dropped him to his knees. The man knelt too. “If you are any good,” he said, gently grasping the sides of Jasper’s face with rough hands. Jasper was too ashamed and too overwhelmed to look him in the eye. “If you aren’t a failure, if you are a man, if you have anything to contribute…” Jasper began to weep. “If you were a good person, you never would have hurt all those people. So prove that you are worthy. Claim what you think is yours. And if you don’t, or you can’t…” The man touched his forehead to his. “…you’ll be damned forever.”

His words insinuated accusation, but his tone revealed an understanding. This man was not condemning him.

Even though he had every right.

“Jasper, look at me.” Jasper’s body shook with another sob. “Please.” With much effort, he lifted his eyes. The man’s gentle expression brought more fresh tears. “Stop thinking you have to atone for your failures by becoming a different person with a different life. Running from the past will never free you. You will never become who you are if you seek your whole life to prove what you can never prove. And what you don’t have to prove. Find your life…” he swallowed, searching his eyes. “…in my way.”

“How?” Jasper managed, face crumpling again.

“By letting go. And letting me and my father be the judges. And accepting our love as your new way of life. You must go forward without regret.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I already paid for them. Because I embraced my identity without trying to earn or prove it. Your regrets, your failures, they may as well be mirages in a desert. Our enemy uses mirages and makes them look like the only truth. They take up the whole view, when really there is much, much more.”

Jasper nodded, only beginning to understand. He faintly remembered the ranch owner, Flint, saying something about a mirage the first time he found himself in this strange vision, when Renata stood pointing the finger at him. The man removed his hands then put one hand around the back of Jasper’s neck and pulled him into an embrace. Jasper melted at the love that encompassed his pain, vowing in his heart to follow this man to the ends of the earth.

The man released him.

“Compelled by love. That’s my way.”

“So,” Jasper said, swallowing. “If I’m supposed to turn my life around, I take it I’m not dead?” He chuckled, then sniffed.

The man smiled. “Have you ever really lived until now?”

Jasper had to wonder. Was there ever a time when he wasn’t running from something or trying to please someone? It dawned on him how exhausting it all was. If what the man said was true, he could be free without the obligation of compensating for his past. Could it be? Could another person actually have paid for all the things he did wrong so that he could start with a fresh slate? Jasper looked into the man’s eyes again. They spoke no lies. “Are you for real?” he whispered, meaning to say it to himself. The question sounded absurd.

The man held out his hand, palm up. “Let me see your compass.”

Jasper had nearly forgotten about it, having stuffed it in his pocket after the man gave it back to him. He pulled it out, letting his eyes linger on its face as he handed it to him. The man flipped it around and placed it on his other palm with its engraved backing showing. He swept the fingers of his opposite hand over the engraving. Lifted his eyes to Jasper. “More real than you know,” he said, handing the tool back to him. “You’ll have direction now, Jasper.”

The man stood. When he did, Jasper caught his breath as the sensation of falling shot up through his body. It took less than a second before they were on the desert floor again. Well, almost. They sat together on the large boulder. The man beside him rested an arm over one knee while his other leg dangled off the edge. Again, Jasper struggled to regain a normal sense of respiration. He let out a breathy laugh.

“I already asked, but…” Jasper began. “…Who are you? Do you have a name?”

“I have many names. But some of those closest to me, they like to call me Yeshua.”

Jasper looked out at the landscape, his gaze zeroing in on a tiny whirlwind of sand some distance away. Yeshua. He seemed to have heard the name before, but couldn’t recall where.

“Jesus,” he heard the man say under his breath. Jasper turned to him. But when he did, the man was gone. He quickly stood to his feet as he turned to face the cliff. The man had simply vanished. He released a breath of disbelief and squatted. He felt his adam’s apple move up and down as he squinted up at the top of the cliff.

Jesus. Had that really just happened? Jesus? He was real, then. It felt like he just learned that Santa Claus was not a made up character for children. But this—this was never how he would have imagined Jesus to be.

]]>https://denicamccall.com/2019/01/20/meeting-yeshua-excerpt-from-unpublished-novel-deserts/feed/0denicamcmiragequotefromdesertsSignificance and Successhttps://denicamccall.com/2018/07/27/significance-and-success/
https://denicamccall.com/2018/07/27/significance-and-success/#respondFri, 27 Jul 2018 18:39:59 +0000http://denicamccall.com/?p=911Continue reading]]>I used to look up at the stars and feel like I mattered.

Because even in possession of all this vast beauty, God still made me. I existed, and that had to mean something.

I’m not sure how or when this feeling began to fade. I don’t know if it was merely childhood resilience that kept me coming back to this truth over and over when I was young, despite my insecurities. But these days, I find it more difficult than ever to hold this sense of wonder and assurance.

This sense that every epic story I witness or read or hear about is calling me to something greater. That I can maybe, someday, find myself in one of these mystical tales. That I can walk among the stars, because I belong to their Maker. That I can scale mountains and defeat monsters because the light I carry is brighter.

That I am the unlikely hero. More than I seem. Braver. Stronger. More beautiful.

Why can’t I be the hobbit that saves Middle Earth from imminent doom?

I turned thirty recently, and I felt like it was going to be a significant birthday, that God wanted to bring me into something new with Him. A new way of walking with Him, a new way of listening, a new way of living. The past few years for me have been a journey of re-learning who Jesus the man is, of how he relates with me and cares for me. Of what it means to surrender and trust him to calm all my storms. To let go of control and let him love my heart into freedom.

But as I approached my thirtieth birthday, Jesus ever so gently took my hand and whispered to my heart that it was time to get to know his Father again. God as Father. See, God is all about family. You can’t have the Son without the Father, and you can’t have either without the Holy Spirit, the helper. As God has gifted me these past several months with the spiritual family that I’ve longed for, I have realized how difficult it is for me to receive good things. To receive love. To receive the truth that God is actually answering my prayers and fulfilling my longing for community.

See, in so many ways I have been living as if I have something to lose.

I fear loss. I am afraid that if I receive love from others, it will be taken away at some point. I am afraid that if I put myself out there, if I share my dreams and my thoughts, that I’ll be met with rejection or I’ll be ignored, and that it will kill a piece of my heart. I am afraid that if I write my stories and they never reach people, I will have lost. I’m afraid that I’ve wasted time or I’ve taken the wrong route. I am afraid that someone’s reaction to me could somehow make me less.

So as I turned thirty, Jesus met me and revealed to me that his Father wants to walk with me. He reminded me that he himself was thirty when he officially began his ministry. And he reminded me that his ministry didn’t begin until he received the approval of his Father.

I thought about the story of Jesus’ baptism, how the dove came and his Father’s voice boomed from the heavens:

“This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased!”

And I realized, He says the same to me. Before I ever do anything, before I become a hero to anyone, before I write a book or go to work or try to love people. He says, “No, the stars weren’t enough. I wanted you.” Someone to do life with. Someone to love and coach and dream with.

Someone to share the stars with.

I think along my journey, especially through adulthood, I’ve been stopped by potholes that tell me I need to apologize for my presence. Like, anytime anyone says or does anything that might imply they think I’ve got the wrong idea, my view of myself gets a little smaller. Until I’m stuck with a general feeling of being wrong.

And I realize now that this false belief has hindered me from approaching life with confidence. Because I haven’t truly received the Father’s approval.

But in this new decade, the sense I have is that He wants me not only to receive His approval, over and over again, but to become like a child again. I love how the Kingdom of God is counterintuitive. The older I get, the more He emphasizes my need for childlikeness and wonder.

And I would have it no other way.

All of this leads me to my time at the Realm Makers writers’ conference that I recently returned from. I don’t know what it is about these weekends, but they always leave a lasting imprint on me, whether or not I expected it. Maybe it’s just being in the presence of so many other wild dreamers who still bumble about at times in their insecurities, like me. Maybe it’s just that my creative identity needs a breath of life. But God always shows up and surprises my heart with an embrace I didn’t even know I needed.

When I came into Allen Arnold’s class called “When Chaos and Creativity Collide,” I didn’t know how reassuring it would be. I didn’t know what Mary Weber, our keynote, would speak about, of how much her words would resonate in my spirit. I didn’t know that Tosca Lee would have us answer soul-searching questions about ourselves during her lesson about characters. But this past weekend, I was reminded of some very important truths:

Success doesn’t look like getting ahead or producing as much as possible. It looks like walking with my Father, doing what He says is best even if it’s not on my to-do list or it doesn’t happen within my timing.

My calling is primarily to be loved and to love people. I can do this in many ways, and it is not at all limited to my ability to get my art and my stories out into the world.

As a child of God, I have the freedom to live and create as if I have nothing to lose.

Whew. I can breathe again. Because truly, I do not have anything to lose. My life has not exactly turned out as I once imagined or thought it should. But that doesn’t meant God isn’t in every bit of it. Every child I’ve cared for as a nanny, every question and risk, every friendship that’s lasted or hasn’t, every move across the country or across town, everything that’s made sense and everything that hasn’t. He is in it.

It all matters. I haven’t evaded my calling. I’m smack dab in the middle of it. No, I do not have a novel published yet. I thought I would have by now. But my Father stands outside of time, and He has a plan. The best plan.

I never thought I would be a nanny for so many years. At one point, I thought: this is just an interim job while I try to get my writing career going. But it has become more than that. I never expected my heart to break a little bit when having to leave a child behind to transition to a new family. I never thought my heart could swell with so much love for little people that aren’t even mine. But it has. And I didn’t think I could do it over and over again, not after feeling like I’ve failed to love them as I ought to.

But these little ones have changed me. Loving them, teaching them and learning from them has become a part of my calling, an important path in my journey. And they will all show up in my stories in some way, but more about that later.

My job as a nanny is just one example of how success in my life can look different than what I think it should. But more than anything, it all boils down to living my life through my Father’s approval.

Allen Arnold showed us a few different movie clips in his class, to demonstrate what it looks like to live and create with our Father. One of my favorites is a scene from August Rush, where the boy who is trying to find his parents encounters his birth father without even knowing it. His father trades guitars with him and together they play. The boy doesn’t know his musical abilities came from his father, though he has a sense about it. But the father knows. And the father gives his son the best instrument and delights in creating this melody with him.

Sometimes I am not aware that my Father is there, creating with me, playing with me, working with me. Approving me despite my haphazard appearance or subpar abilities. I don’t always know that He’s mine, and that I belong to Him. That my dreams are actually leading me closer to Him, because He is in those dreams. I don’t have to be very far along. I don’t have to be famous or on stage. My success is buried in His approval.

Right after the conference, I watched the movie A Quiet Place. Little did I know what a perfect end to the weekend it would be.

***SPOILER ALERT***

I am undone as I replay the scene in my mind. The father, wounded, watching his children in danger. Thinking of nothing but their safety and his love for them. His love runs deep enough that he would do anything. And he does. But not only does he sacrifice his own life, take the pain that is due to them upon himself. But he makes sure his daughter knows he loves her first. With a few simple signs, the father’s entire heart is revealed.

I love you. I have always loved you.

In this moment, the daugher’s heart is flung wide open. She didn’t realize that he could love her when it was her fault her little brother died. When she thinks her deafness puts their whole family at risk.

But he proved, in that last moment when he died in her stead, that she was the world to him.

That scene, for me, said it all.

]]>https://denicamccall.com/2018/07/27/significance-and-success/feed/0denicamctruesuccesschildpicTreeshttps://denicamccall.com/2018/07/03/trees/
https://denicamccall.com/2018/07/03/trees/#respondTue, 03 Jul 2018 17:25:02 +0000http://denicamccall.com/?p=907Continue reading]]>Beams of gold-flecked light sift through the trees as if through a sieve

Reflecting the hidden glow in my soul

It pulses like a heart, a candle in the dark, as I

Weave through this mysterious forest at the birth of dusk

And I’m learning how to trust, forging a way through this dirt at my feet,

Seeing how I was made from such things

But knowing eternity rushes in my veins, like

The wings overhead, how they cut through the air

How those lungs screech through the quiet, invite a sense of depth

That creates heights like the cliff before my eyes

I stop,

Breathe,

Take in the scene before me, no longer in my periphery

The edge, it calls to me

To leap and know I’ll make it back home, I’ll have ample time to

Explore the maze of the trees behind me, it

Blinds me, this fear, this trepidation at what I think I’ll lose

But I won’t if I just

Trust you

Another day, another page, another part of the story, I think

If I wait, maybe

Then your hand slips in, encloses mine in warmth

As branches dance in wild wind, and I face North, every nerve under my skin

Lifted,

Fire ignited, dashing through each limb until my heart finds its peace

On the end of your words

Your rumoring lips are my air now, and I’m off the rim of this jarring fear now,

But this staring contest is not a race, not a trial to see who will fall faster

Your mistake is already buried; I’ve marked its grave

A thousand times I remind you; I’m aware of your amnesia

But child

Just come closer, because

You will hear my pulse thump thump thumping against your head

That wants to figure it all out

But in your doubt this

Vibration in my chest, it pacifies the lies

Built up in your mind as if imaginary castles can decide

Your fate

As of late, you

Have ached to leave the shore, you covet the stars which

Dot the night sky, sing in the dark, glitter like the works of art that they know they are

You have hankered to be near, you

Have nailed your fear to rotting doors, you

Have chosen that those moments will not define you forever

Child

Hear

This whisper in your heart, see

How the trees dance my name, how

Outer space paints my fame

And not only that, but remember?

How I came?

Trampling your oppressors

By the kindness in my gaze,

Crushing soul-numbing propaganda by reaching my hand out

And touching your wounds?

My scars healed your heart

Don’t you remember, you precious piece of art?

So trust

Me

All I want is to walk with you

Down this bruised path marked with questions, you

Don’t have to be alone

For my veins have atoned for every what-if

And I can fill your questions with grace

You’re not lost, you’ve just misplaced your hope

But condemnation will be your mudslide, and

Guilt and judgment will be your hurricane

Until you slip into my kindness and find yourself in my name

Let me show you how I

Memorize your memories, how I

Trace the lines in your face, how I strip the paint of doubt from your brow

And write new stories on your palms

I understand your qualms, I

Bear the marks of brutality in my own body, but

Redemption always sings a louder song, and

My dance is always wilder than the naysayers’ senseless swaying

And I’m always saying,

Come home, come home

I’m waiting

]]>https://denicamccall.com/2018/05/24/im-waiting/feed/0denicamcimwaitinghurricaneimageThe Glory of Kingshttps://denicamccall.com/2018/04/30/the-glory-of-kings/
https://denicamccall.com/2018/04/30/the-glory-of-kings/#respondMon, 30 Apr 2018 19:00:01 +0000http://denicamccall.com/?p=899Continue reading]]>“For a moment of silence Theoden stood looking down at Eomer as he knelt still before him. Neither moved.

‘Will you not take the sword?’ said Gandalf.

Slowly Theoden stretched forth his hand. As his fingers took the hilt, it seemed to the watchers that firmness and strength returned to his thin arm. Suddenly he lifted the blade and swung it shimmering and whistling in the air. Then he gave a great cry. His voice rang clear as he chanted in the tongue of Rohan a call to arms.”

-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers

I’ve read this scene from one of my favorite stories a few different times, but this latest time the significance of it really struck me. I’m sure if you have ever watched The Lord of the Rings film trilogy you will also remember the scene where Gandalf returns from the dead, and then travels to Rohan with a few companions to wake up King Theoden from his deteriorating condition—a condition which is sustained by the cunning, manipulative words of a vile man appropriately called Wormtongue. A man sent by Saruman, a self-proclaimed ally of the ultimate enemy (Sauron). Wormtongue’s lies have virtually taken over the kingdom of Rohan due to his influence over the king. Rohan’s only hope to avoid a siege by Isengard is for their king to awaken—to remember who he is, to remember what is true and what is best for his people. To escape the influence of the worm.

Theoden is so bound by the corrupt words of this spy that he doesn’t even trust his own nephew, Eomer, a “Marshal of the Mark.” As Wormtongue holds the king prisoner, Theoden holds Eomer—a man who only seeks the protection of his people—prisoner. What a twisted state of affairs! In a time of great need and great darkness, in a time when all good men, all good creatures must unite and stand together against an enemy who would destroy them all, a king is silenced.

And this king is not only silenced, but he has become a blinded, shriveled, lonely shadow of his former self. The lies have robbed him of all hope, and therefore of all strength. He doesn’t even want to fight anymore. He doesn’t even want to hear news of the affairs of the world, because he believes such news will only sink him deeper into despair, will only bring doom to him and his people. He is afraid when Gandalf arrives, not wanting to hear the truth that he brings—that threat of war is looming and Rohan must take up arms if they wish to survive. Until Gandalf wakes him up, Theoden would rather sit in darkness and weakness than listen to the wizard’s claims.

See, it’s easier to be a shadow. It’s easier, but it’s not freedom. It is no way to live, and it is not worth the pain it causes others. It is not worth the stripping of one’s identity. I feel like this scene can be a powerful allegory for Christ-followers. So many of us—born to be kings and queens in God’s kingdom, to stand up and claim our royalty, to take the swords we’ve been given and fight the enemy of our souls—have lost ourselves in hoards of lies. Whisperings from the enemy and his “spies” that tell us not to trust our own kin, our friends, even Jesus. We become so numb to these lies because they not only make sense when they come, but they infiltrate our thoughts so that we often aren’t even aware of what we’re actually believing. How cunning our enemy is, but how little power he has once we remember who we are!

The light is coming. Like Gandalf, standing up boldly with his staff, illuminating the fiction of Wormtongue’s allegations, and calling forth the man who is king. The light is coming, helping us to see that Eomer(a representation of community and family) is our ally. Not perfect, but there to support us nonetheless. When we remove the blame, when we set Eomer free, he can be who he is meant to be. Why believe and trust a malevolent enemy more than our own family, anyway?

Just like King Theoden, we’ve been afraid of the war and the darkness. We’ve been afraid to get too involved in other people’s lives and in the affairs of the world because of the perceived cost. It is simpler to sit on our thrones and let another rule for us while we shrivel up and die. Simpler, easier, to isolate ourselves and hide our glory and our mistakes from the world. Easier to hide and pretend that everything around us is okay. Easier to put away and ignore those who claim we must fight, that we must do something. But is it really worth it? Self-preservation soon becomes self-deprecation. Seeking to guard our own affairs and not trust anyone else makes us tire more quickly, age faster. We are alone even when those who desire our freedom stand right behind the sneering whisperer, ready to do what they must when we give the word. (Think of Eowyn in Theoden’s throne room, how ready she is to defend her people, despite the influence and the jarring pursuits of Wormtongue.) We are afraid of the perceived cost of taking up arms when in reality, the alternative is far more expensive. We will not only lose our lives and our identities, but we will lose our people, our influence, our God-given territory.

When we are released to remember who we are, to take up our swords again, the people around us are released as well. Identity begets identity, and awakening spreads like wildfire. When King Theoden took back his sword, he called his people to arms. And they were ready. Interestingly, Wormtongue, under the guise of being Theoden’s devout servant, suggests that someone needs to be left behind in Rohan to guard the castle, to protect the city. But this preservation proposition is rooted in fear, is based on the worm’s old lie—that self-protection is the answer. That we need to secure everything before we choose to take the risk to fight for freedom. See, we fight and pine to protect ourselves, to guard what we have because we’re afraid of losing it; but we end up losing our identities in the process. I know that I have often placed more value on my own fears than on what God’s Spirit wants to do in and through me, and I see this now as insanity. Fear is a liar and a thief, robbing us of the promise of abundant life and victory.

“…To search out a matter is the glory of kings.”

-Proverbs 25:2 NIV

Our glory as sons and daughters, heirs of God himself, is to search out the mysteries, to live in the uncertainties and to trust his Spirit to fight with and for us as we remember who we are. We don’t need to preserve what we have. We need to only to rise up and fight and let God (the light) dispel the darkness as his glory shines through us. We search out the truth instead of succumbing to the comfort of the lies, which are like a padding for our wounds. In seeking the truth, in facing despair with hope instead of letting it overtake us, we become who we are, we are healed, and we release others into this same freedom.

Let us take up arms! The victory is ours, if we will only allow ourselves to see again.

And even if your tears wet your ears, even if you’re voice is shattered and

Unraveled by your fears,

We’ll make mosaics together

Poetry is whether or not we’re broken

Poetry is healing and loving in motion

So dance with me to redemption’s ballad

We will ride this road hand in hand and

As family,

As poems making symphonies

As descendants of freedom

Inaugurating a kingdom of woven stories

Let go. Just be.

This is poetry

]]>https://denicamccall.com/2018/02/14/poetry/feed/0denicamcpoetryimageMeant for Beautyhttps://denicamccall.com/2018/02/08/meant-for-beauty/
https://denicamccall.com/2018/02/08/meant-for-beauty/#respondThu, 08 Feb 2018 20:33:32 +0000http://denicamccall.com/?p=893Continue reading]]>I told someone the other day that I get to go to New Zealand this year, which is a country I’ve wanted to visit since I was a young teenager. She proceeded to tell me that she heard it was rated the most beautiful country in the world. And that got me thinking.

What is this inveterate obsession with beauty we possess as a human race?

I mean, we are so hopelessly attracted to beauty that we will spend months and even years working our butts off just so we can go somewhere to be surrounded by it. We spend thousands of dollars just for beauty. Just to experience nature in all its glory. The primary reason I’ve always wanted to visit New Zealand is because of its beauty. And I am not ashamed of the fact that I am irredeemably drawn to beautiful things.

Beauty calls something awake inside of me. It gives me space to breathe and it restores my soul. It reminds me of a home I can’t remember but that I’m made for. It highlights the fantastic mystery of realms unknown, and it satisfies imagination in ways that nothing else can. Peter Jackson was so enamored with New Zealand’s beauty that it became a fantastical setting for the Lord of the Rings films.

We long for beauty so much that we’re willing to work for it and go great distances to find it. And I think this is such a stunning aspect of humanity. See, we are meant for beauty. And beauty calls to beauty. I think when we surround ourselves with mountains and color and sunsets and lakes and cliffs and vast, rolling landscapes, these vistas touch the glory inside of each of us. As we behold beauty, we become more free to clearly see our own. I believe that God so deliberately created the beauty in nature as a gift to us and he meant it as a way for us to slow down and get back in touch with our true selves. Our nature as his glorious sons and daughters. Our calling as artists and creative people. As heroes and voyagers and fighters.

When I was little, I remember if I ever had the choice between receiving a sweet treat or a toy, I chose the toy. My reasoning was because it lasted. The candy was only temporary, so to me, what lasted was the better choice. No question. We all long for things that will last, that we can experience again and again. That will give us a sense of security and permanence. As I’ve gotten older I’ve come to realize that experiences are far more priceless than things. And even if situations or events are temporary, the beauty I’ve experienced spending time with people or in nature or in my travels is truly what lasts. Beauty and experience leave imprints on my heart. They mark me forever. I can hold onto them when everything else shakes and shifts around me.

Beautiful moments are what make up our lives. Not things or money. Beauty is what will last. With that belief, I remain unapologetically in pursuit of it. If it will give my heart room to breathe and to be, if it will help me become my truest self and cause me to fall more in love with the Creator of it all, it’s worth it to me.

Her sing-song lilt warms me inside, though a cool autumn fog gathers around my squatting form. I like it when she says my name like there is no one she’d rather play with, but it’s probably not that. My sister Chay probably sent her after me. And Mother no doubt sent Chay. Supper time or something or other.

But right now I don’t care about supper, for I have discovered the most delicious secret just inside the Jade Forest, by the valley. I peer under the hollowed space beneath the gnarled tree roots that make me think of monster arms; no—dragon arms. I smile, letting my own breath-cloud envelop my face. I am scrunching so low that the tops of my thighs press tight against my chest. I shuffle forward just a few centimeters, rustling the golden leaves that have gathered on the forest floor.

“Crighton?” Her voice is closer now, just… I rub my forehead as I calculate the distance based on her vocal cues…three and a half meters behind me on my left, at a fifty-seven degree angle. I’ve always been astonishingly accurate with numbers and estimations. “What have you found, you loon?” Lily asks.

“Wait!” I put up my hand for her to stop. Two point seventy-five meters. I continue to squint into the dark, cavernous space. “There may be a beast in here,” I whisper.

“Then why don’t you get away from it? Are you daft?”

I swallow the dry air in my throat. It’s true—this isn’t like me. It’s usually Caydren or even Lily herself who discovers all the finest mysteries or incites the grandest adventures. But this—this could be mine. “No, I’m not daft. This could be a fort, Lil. Or a cave. Or…or…”

“A new hiding place for Hide-and-Find?” she finishes for me. I turn around, furrow my brow as she crosses her arms. “Let me see,” she says, and walks towards and then past me, straight to the mouth of the yawning tree. My eyes widen as she gets down on hands and knees and crawls right inside.

Her feet are still protruding from the opening when she screams.

I scramble through the leaves, my limbs flailing helplessly as I attempt to get them to work. “Lily?” I yell, grabbing her right ankle. Her head pops out and she laughs.

“See, you can’t always predict me, can you?” she teases, cocking her head down to one shoulder. I don’t know what it is, but I can’t hate her when her blue-green eyes sparkle like that.

“So?” I press.

“So…what?” She scoots back out, pulls a leaf from her dark hair.

“Was there anything in there?”

“Only a dragon. Why?” She crosses her arms again, and I fight the urge to pull her cloak over them, goosefleshed as they are.

“Who’s the half-wit now?” Her mouth drops open at my boldness.

“How dare you, Cright!” She lunges for me. I laugh, get my feet under me and dart away, back up the hill that led me to this lair. I’m almost to the top when I anticipate she’s going to grab my hood at any moment. She’s nearly close enough to reach it. My head falls back and I wrench my body to the side when she finally gets a hold of it. Then I fall to the ground and begin sliding down the leafy incline while Lily still clutches my hood, pulling it over my shoulder. We laugh and struggle to get our footing, but the laughing makes our efforts null. We’re like spiders on ice, all limbs and no traction.

Finally, we’re back to the bottom of the hill.

“I’ll beat you to it!” she squeals, then dives toward my discovery and ducks inside. I nearly trip over my own boots as I chase after her, follow her inside. We catch our breath together. Lily lets out chuckled sighs and I lean my head back against the inside of the tree cave and allow my eyes to adjust.

Placing hands over our own chests so we can understand the beats of those around us

What if we sang instead of holding it in,

What if we danced instead of restricting our limbs?

What if we treasured moments in sacred vaults,

Unlocking them in the times when we need to remember and, sometimes, offering the key to others?

What if we stopped letting fear guide our paths

And took risks that stood against bad experiences and the burdens of our pasts?

What if we stopped allowing the future to stop us

And employed our imaginations in selfless and courageous acts?

What if we told our dreams to each other, let our secrets fly with the birds?

Would we find that we’re not alone,

Would we learn to love more deeply, more truly

And judge a little less?

What if we could accept the dents in our palms and the marks on our faces

As broken mosaics that the light can shine through?

What if we stopped labeling our actions and judging our mistakes, but instead just moved on,

Forgiving our own inadequacies and accepting our need for grace?

What if we acknowledged our weakness but embraced our glory?

Would the world be a better place?

]]>https://denicamccall.com/2018/01/03/grace/feed/0denicamcScarlethttps://denicamccall.com/2017/11/08/scarlet/
https://denicamccall.com/2017/11/08/scarlet/#respondWed, 08 Nov 2017 15:52:22 +0000http://denicamccall.com/?p=886Continue reading]]>So, here I am. Performing on one of the biggest stages in the nation. It’s a dream, a pinnacle of hopes and hard work, a streak-free reflection of what I always imagined. My chest thumps in time with the beats of the violins, my feet react at just the right second during every turn, every leap, every step as I dance out my heart’s very melody. The dancers around me complement each other—complement me, all of us working and sweating in sync. We are here for each other. If one falls, we all do. My eye catches that of my friend Aspen’s as we pass in an arabesque and a fouette turn. We read each other’s minds.

This is what makes us who we are. This moment, right here.

I turn again, fling my arms out, strong and full of passion, as my face is enveloped in the spotlight. I allow it to consume me, not afraid of its brightness. I am lost.

Something changes. I feel it like a subtle thrum—a hiccup—in my pulse. I keep dancing, but I’m losing energy. The brightness is dimming, dimming, dimming.

Black.

I stop, catching my breath, bathed in darkness until the light comes back, slowly, slowly, but from a different source than the blazing electrical thing overhead. I look around. The other dancers are staring at me, backing away. Further, faster. Now they are running, abandoning the stage.

I stand alone in the dim light that allows me to see the audience seats, which are now empty. When did the people leave? I can hear my breath, echoing as if in a metallic chamber, as I watch the curtain descend in front of me. I spin in a full circle, still washed in this eerie light, and confirm to myself that I am utterly alone. And yet, I feel I am not. And in the worst way, too—like that icy chill that snakes down your spine when you hear a creak in an empty house.

Grooooaaann.

I pull in a tight breath, eyes wide, as wind whips my hair. I feel a fluttering in my belly, in my chest, in my limbs. What is going on?

Another groan, creak, step. Step, step, step. Someone is coming towards me, but they must be behind the curtain. The stepping stops abruptly, and I’m forced to watch in silence as the curtain ripples in this breeze that seems to vibrate my whole body.

“Scarlet.” A whisper. I peer into the dim light, trying to find the source of the voice. “Scarlet?” Normal volume now—a woman’s voice. No—not any woman’s. Aspen’s.

Another groan soars through the atmosphere, and my limbs feel tense, woven. I rub my left arm with my right hand. Coarse skin assaults the nerves on my fingertips. “Aspen? Is that you?”

“Scarlet, why are you shuddering so?”

“Where are you? Why can’t I see you?”

“Oh.”

Oh? I panic as the wind picks up and my legs go rigid. The curtain is whipped around like a feather in a storm until it cascades to the stage. No, wait. Not the stage. Dirt. Moist dirt cakes around my feet. I look up, and the stars twinkle back at me from the night canopy. I try to turn my head, but it only moves mere millimeters, if that. I am in a forest, surrounded by trees, and my breath is now one with the wind. I don’t see Aspen anywhere, and I can’t move. Something skitters up my arm, and I cry out, try to swipe at it, but I’m frozen in place. It climbs up into my hair and enters my ear—a soft thing with prickly feet. A shiver runs down my body. What is the thing doing in my ear?!

But then, I feel something else. Something soft and human, like a small palm on my torso. It warms, it searches, it soothes. I manage to look down and see a child—a little girl with brown wavy hair, her hand on my belly. She smiles, tilts her head up. Her gaze roams the night sky over my head. She breathes, and I melt. I know this girl. I know. I know. It all hits me, then. Who I really am.

Aspen’s fluttering leaves wave at me from behind the girl, and she dips her head just slightly. Haven came back. She came back!

The little one whispers against my bark, “I’m sorry. I had to be away for awhile. Grandma has left this earth, and my family had to make sure everything was taken care of after her journey. But I’m back now.”

She begins to climb me, her little feet tickling and scraping on the way up. She sits on my outstretched arm, and I hold her there as she gazes at the twinkling orbs through my branches. All the world’s a stage, and I had let myself embrace the fantasy that I must be a star in order to be loved. To be found. To matter.

The girl—my little Haven—embraces my arm, and the wind—my breath—caresses her hair. No. I think I’ll stick with being a prop from which children can dream with the stars, can breathe in the open air and find refuge from life’s unexpected woes.